


To Thine Own Self Be True

by spilled_notes



Series: Sappho's Stethoscope [1]
Category: Holby City
Genre: AU, AU reworking of S17, F/F, First Time, Flirting, Grief/Mourning, implied future Serena/Bernie, lots of flirting, no sophia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 00:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13939131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: Fleur has always felt a spark between her and Serena, right from the moment they met. She’s just never been able to work out what it means. Right now Serena’s mother is dying, so it’s hardly the appropriate time to figure it out. But then Serena goes to Paris, and when she comes back – well, let’s just say things are rather clearer. For both of them.





	To Thine Own Self Be True

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Shakespeare (Hamlet) via Fleur (17.11).

Fleur glances along the bar as she waits for the barman to mix her French Martini. There are a number of middle aged men sat nursing pints, all of whom keep looking in the same direction and, curious, Fleur turns to find out who the object of their attention is. Her gaze falls on Serena Campbell, sat alone at a table, staring morosely into a half empty glass of Shiraz, the rest of the bottle her only companion.

 _Ah_.

In the time it takes for Fleur to pick up her drink and turn around again, one of the men has slipped off his stool. But despite her height and her heels Fleur can move quickly, and she’s reaching for the back of the chair opposite Serena before he’s managed to straighten his shirt and pick up his pint.

‘You don’t have to say anything,’ Fleur says quickly when Serena looks up in surprise. ‘I just thought you could probably do without fending off the advances of Fatty, Sleazy or Possibly-Contagious over there.’

‘Were they rejects from the Seven Dwarves?’ Serena asks, huffing an almost-laugh.

‘Don’t think Snow White would have stayed with any of them out of choice,’ Fleur smiles, raising her glass in Serena’s direction and sipping her cocktail.

For a while Serena takes her at her word and says nothing, just drinks her wine and stares at the tabletop. Fleur takes the opportunity to study her; this close the pain in Serena’s eyes is clear, and Fleur knows she was right when she thought that the bright smile she’s seen on Serena’s face around the hospital recently wasn’t genuine.

And then Serena seems to shake herself from her thoughts, clears her throat and meets Fleur’s eye. ‘So how are you finding things on Keller?’

‘Safe to say Pudsey and I are not exactly a dream team as yet,’ she replies wryly. ‘Far too much faffing around for my liking, he needs to just get on with it.’

‘Pudsey?’ Serena frowns.

‘Sorry, Mr Levy,’ Fleur explains. Serena smiles, delight glinting in her eyes, and Fleur has to press her lips together and raise her glass to hide her own delight at provoking such a reaction, at the reappearance of the same spark she felt between them when they first met.

Conversation is sparse, as Serena works her way down the rest of the bottle; Fleur doesn’t push, keeps well away from the reason for Serena’s melancholy – the hospital grapevine provides regular updates on Mrs McKinnie’s condition and antics – and instead dredges up tales of Michael Spence’s misdeeds while they were at Charing Cross together, until she draws not only a smile but even a laugh from the woman opposite her. And then Serena sighs heavily, and Fleur sees the guilt flood into her.

‘I’d better be off,’ she says, draining the last of her Shiraz.

‘If you ever want a drink – or more of Michael’s peccadilloes – you know where I am.’

‘Thanks,’ Serena says, with a brief smile, her hand resting on Fleur’s shoulder for a long moment before she walks away.

Fleur twists her head to watch her leave, catches a waft of NHS-issue soap and what must be Serena’s hand lotion lingering on the fabric of her cardigan. When she turns back again, one of the men who had been eyeing up Serena ( _Sleazy, to be precise_ ) is just about to make himself comfortable in her now vacant chair.

‘Don’t even think about it, sunshine,’ Fleur says firmly, her face instantly hardening, glaring at him as he slinks back to the bar.

*          *          *

Fleur thinks about Serena quite a lot over the following days. She wonders how she’s doing, of course, how she’s coping with her mother’s illness and sojourn in hospital; by all accounts Adrienne is a stubborn woman who’s causing no end of trouble on her ward, and Fleur pities the poor juniors and nurses – and, indeed, consultants – treating her. But she thinks about the chemistry between them too and can’t help wondering if there’s anything behind it. She finds her thoughts wandering at odd moments – when she’s waiting for Doris and Clark Kent to come up with a diagnosis, when she’s scrubbing in, when she’s completing discharge forms – to how Serena’s fingers had lingered in hers when they shook hands at her interview, how they had lingered on her shoulder in Albie’s. To the crackle in the air between them every time they’ve been in the same room, and the spark in Serena’s eyes – and how those eyes seem to keep seeking her out, even as Serena charms whoever she’s talking to. To how Serena shares her tendency to flirt and how Fleur still hasn’t managed to read her, hasn’t managed to work out if it’s meaningless or something more.

 _Not exactly something I can ask Michael about_ , she thinks wryly. _And hardly the time to be thinking about it, with her mother almost certainly dying on the next floor._

So she puts it from her mind. Until she walks into Albie’s to see Serena sitting with what she assumes is some of her team from AAU. They’re engaged in a lively conversation but Serena looks like she’s a million miles away, one finger tracing the rim of her wine glass, her other hand clutching the pendant nestled between her collarbones. When Raf nudges her and says something Serena smiles briefly, but it fades as soon as he turns back to the rest of the group.

‘Mind if I gatecrash?’ Fleur asks, walking over and resting her hand on the back of Serena’s chair, fingers just brushing her shoulder blade. Without waiting for an answer she pulls up a chair and sits close to Serena, close enough that their knees touch under the small table. Serena flashes her a smile, and Fleur’s certain she shifts just a little so their knees press together more firmly.

A little later, Fleur returns to the table with a round to find Serena no longer there, frowns a question at Mary Claire who tilts her head towards the toilets in answer. She dithers for a moment once she’s dished out the drinks then strides away, cautiously pushes open the door to the ladies to find Serena gripping the edge of the sink, her head bowed.

‘You alright?’ she asks softly.

Serena raises her head, and in the mirror Fleur can see that she’s holding back tears. So she steps closer, rests her palm between Serena’s shoulder blades for a moment before gently rubbing her back, slowly moving up to her shoulders, thumb working circles into tense muscles.

‘Not easy, it is?’ Fleur says softly. She feels as much as hears the hitch in Serena’s breathing and shifts closer to just press against her side, her hand still moving but now in a caress rather than a pseudo massage. ‘Come on,’ she says eventually, patting Serena’s shoulder and taking a step away from her. ‘Else they’ll think I’m ravishing you in here.’

Serena meets her gaze in the mirror and laughs wetly, but there’s a hint of something else in her eyes that makes Fleur wonder just what might have happened were they under different circumstances.

She digs around in her handbag, passes a tissue to Serena and touches up her still perfect lipstick to give Serena at least the semblance of privacy while she dries her eyes and wipes the tear tracks from her cheeks.

‘Ready to face the masses?’ Fleur asks.

Serena clears her throat and takes a steadying breath before nodding.

‘After you then,’ Fleur says, reaching for the door.

But before she can open it, Serena’s hand is on her elbow. ‘Thank you,’ she says, her voice quiet but sincere.

Fleur just smiles, feels her stomach swoop when Serena smiles in return, when she squeezes her elbow before withdrawing her hand.

*          *          *

‘Serena!’ Fleur calls as she steps out of Wyvern Wing and sees a familiar navy coat ahead of her.

Serena stops and turns, smiles as Fleur strides towards her; it might just be her imagination, but Fleur’s sure Serena’s eyes drop to her red heels and slowly trace up her body until they meet hers again.

‘Just the woman I’ve been looking for,’ Fleur teases, parroting Serena’s words from the previous morning. ‘Fancy a drink?’

‘Not sure I’m up to it today,’ Serena apologises.

Fleur narrows her eyes and studies Serena’s face, sees the weariness and sorrow and tension. ‘Doesn’t have to be Albie’s,’ she tries. ‘To be honest I’m not sure I want to face Michael and Doris after spending all day with them already. I’m buying,’ she wheedles, when Serena’s brow creases in indecision. ‘Only the finest Shiraz…’

‘Oh, go on then,’ Serena says eventually, and Fleur grins and slips her arm through Serena’s.

They end up in a quiet bar not far from the hospital, but far enough not to be swarming with colleagues and expensive enough to be out of the everyday budget of anyone but fellow consultants even if any did show up. True to her word Fleur shoos Serena to a table and asks for a Shiraz and two glasses; red isn’t her drink of choice but this evening she’s happy to forgo the cocktails and split a bottle.

Serena has slid into a booth in a quiet corner, well away from the door and any drafts; her eyes are closed, her head tipped back as she kneads at her neck and shoulders.

‘Here we go,’ Fleur says, setting the bottle and glasses on the table and shrugging off her coat before slipping into the booth opposite Serena. Serena’s hand is instantly on the bottle, pouring a generous measure into both glasses, and Fleur has to bite back a laugh. ‘Keen, are we?’

Serena blushes and drops her gaze to the table, but her head jerks back up when Fleur’s hand comes to cover hers.

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Fleur reassures her, fingertips sliding across the back of Serena’s hand before she reaches for her glass and takes a hearty sip. The wine is rich and spicy, and she can’t help the little moan as it slips down her throat; her eyes fluttering closed she misses the way Serena’s darken a shade, the way her hand trembles slightly as she lifts her own glass to her lips.

‘Now that’s a proper drink,’ Serena teases. ‘Not like those brightly coloured concoctions you usually insist on.’

‘Next time you’re buying,’ Fleur shoots back, her eyes glittering. ‘And we’ll be having the cocktail of my choice.’

‘Fine,’ Serena huffs overdramatically. ‘I’ll sacrifice an evening of Shiraz – seeing as it’s you.’

‘Oh, I feel honoured,’ Fleur sighs, fluttering her eyelashes and holding a hand to her chest.

Serena laughs, a joyous, ringing sound that warms Fleur right through. She could blame it on the wine, of course – but why deny that Serena’s a gorgeous woman?

*          *          *          *          *

Paris is a revelation. Her last night there: an elegant little wine bar, a fresh glass of Shiraz Serena didn’t order slid across the polished wood towards her. At her frown the young barman inclines his head towards the other end of the bar. Serena follows the motion, her gaze landing on a beautiful woman, as elegantly dressed as their surroundings. Their eyes meet and Serena instantly – automatically – looks away and tugs at her pendant, out of decades of habit ignoring the familiar flutter in her stomach. And then her fingers freeze.

 _I don’t have to do this any more_.

She takes a deep breath and raises her gaze to meet the other woman’s, for the first time allowing herself to savour the attraction she has always felt. The woman smiles, and Serena’s heart stutters as she watches her slip from her stool and walk towards her.

‘Camille,’ the woman murmurs, leaning close enough to brush a kiss to each of Serena’s cheeks before perching on the stool next to her.

‘Serena,’ she manages, her voice hoarse, her eyes on Camille’s throat as she sips her wine.

Nothing happens, of course. Just a glorious couple of hours of flirting and loaded glances, a combination of anxiety and desire and joy bubbling through Serena’s veins, until Camille looks at her watch with a sigh and explains that she needs to collect her daughter from a party. Serena stands to say goodbye, her hand on Camille’s arm, and this time Camille’s lips catch the edge of her mouth and linger there.

Serena can feel her touch for the rest of the night. Lying in bed, her fingers tracing where Camille’s lips had been, her thoughts suddenly turn to Fleur.

‘Oh,’ she gasps into the darkness of her hotel room.

Because the electricity she feels every time they’re in the same room, the thrill whenever they touch, whenever their eyes meet, is no different to what she’s feeling right now for Camille. She thinks about Fleur – the glint in her eyes, the soft touch of her hand, the way she flirts – and shivers even as heat flares in the pit of her stomach.

She decides she’ll push her luck next time she sees Fleur. They’ve always flirted, after all. The only difference is that now she realises that she means it – has always meant it. But it gives her something to hide behind, something to keep herself from looking like a fool if Fleur isn’t interested.

*          *          *

Fleur steps into Albie’s on her own, her shoulders relaxing when the warmth hits her, spots Doris and Clark Kent with some other juniors but ignores them at the sight of Serena at the bar. There’s a Fleur-sized gap between her and the next patron, and Fleur walks over to fill it.

‘I’m sorry about your mum,’ she says quietly, leaning against the bar, close enough that their arms are pressed together.

‘Thanks,’ Serena replies with a smile.

And that’s all they say about it. The grief is still there – along with the relief and attendant guilt – but now there’s a lightness to Serena, like a cloud has been lifted.

Serena moves away from the bar, turns to look over her shoulder and meets Fleur’s gaze. ‘Coming?’ she asks before continuing towards a table, her hips swaying.

Fleur suddenly realises that she’s staring, blinks and takes a sip of her cocktail to give her blush chance to fade a little before following her.

 _Oh dear god,_ she thinks as she finds Serena among the midweek crowd. Serena has clearly just taken a sip of wine; her eyes are closed, a look of bliss softening her features, and her tongue darts out to chase the taste on her lips. And then she opens her eyes and looks directly at Fleur; there’s no doubt that Serena’s spark is back with a vengeance but Fleur fancies that there’s something else there too now, something hotter and darker that sends a shiver down her spine.

The table is tiny – _have the tables here always been this small?_ Fleur wonders – and she’s barely sat down before she feels Serena’s foot nudging against hers, Serena’s calf pressing against hers, and her stockings have never felt so thin. She takes a too large sip of her drink, doesn’t really taste it but relishes the momentary distraction of the burn down her throat. Without thinking she picks up the cocktail stick and slides the alcohol-soaked cherry off with her teeth; when she glances across the table it’s to find Serena staring at her, slightly dazed, her cheeks flushed and – Fleur’s close enough to see, courtesy of the minuscule table – her pupils dilated.

 _Just what did you get up to in Paris?_ she finds herself wondering, pressing her lips together to hide a smirk when Serena clears her throat and looks away, fingers rising to toy with her necklace. Fleur can’t help following the movement with her eyes, Serena’s obvious if unvoiced desire giving her the courage to do so blatantly rather than hiding it in brief glances from behind the rim of her glass.

The tension fairly crackling between them, Fleur sips her drink again and then slips off one shoe, hesitating just a moment before trailing her toes a few inches up the back of Serena’s calf and then down again to rest against her ankle. Serena jumps at the contact and Fleur hears her breath hitch. But before she can do anything about it – before she can trail her toes higher, before she can reach to touch Serena’s hand where it’s loosely curled around the stem of her wineglass – an utterly oblivious Pudsey pulls up a chair and begins talking.

Fleur wants to curse him, wants to tell him to bugger off, but he’s already drawn Serena – who’s clearly less bullish and far more tactful than she is herself – into conversation. Even if Serena’s eyes do keep flicking to hers – and, every now and then, to her lips. She considers, momentarily, excusing herself to the ladies and waiting to see if Serena follows, but then remembers that she’s seen the bathrooms here and swiftly dismisses the idea; they’re neither of them juniors any more, both above such not entirely salubrious settings. And above the gossip, should anyone see or hear them, should anyone suspect.

Somehow Serena finishes her drink while Fleur, distracted by her thoughts and by Serena, still has half a glass to go.

‘Another?’ Sacha asks.

‘Not tonight, I’m afraid. I’ve got an early surgery tomorrow, so I’d best behave and get off home.’

Fleur watches, her heart sinking a little, as Serena pulls on her coat and drapes her scarf around her neck. But when Serena passes and says her farewells she meets Fleur’s gaze and squeezes her shoulder, her fingers lingering and then trailing to just catch the soft skin of her neck beyond the hem of her dress. It could, of course, be an accident, but Serena’s tiny smirk and the glint in her eyes when Fleur’s breath catches in her throat suggest otherwise.

*          *          *

Serena does have an early surgery. Not early enough that she wouldn’t normally have stayed for another drink, though. It isn’t that she doesn’t want this thing between her and Fleur, because she does. Wants it a lot, in fact. She just feels a little off kilter, overwhelmed, needs to try and rebalance herself on this new axis her world is still adjusting to before – well, before anything _more_.

She’s home before she realises, the drive a blank of quiet and familiar roads, and lets herself in, pausing just long enough to slip off her coat and shoes before heading straight upstairs. Lying in bed, all she can think about is Fleur. She felt it too, Serena knows she did. If only Sacha hadn’t joined them…

Serena takes a shuddering breath. _I might be in bed with her,_ she thinks. _What would it feel like to kiss her?_

She’d be soft, Serena knows; Camille’s lips barely caught hers but they were so soft. She can scarce imagine Fleur’s mouth against hers, Fleur’s tongue–

Serena groans and trembles at the thought of it, the thought of Fleur’s body, all those delicious curves under her hands. She swallows hard, opens her eyes and stares at the dark ceiling, fights to calm a heart racing from desire and anticipation.

 _It should feel harder_ , she thinks. _Surely it should feel harder, acknowledging this part of myself after so long?_

But she just feels full of wanting, feels more herself than she has in years – like she can finally _be_ herself at last.

She means to roll over and go to sleep, she really does, but she’s far too keyed up and when she moves her thighs press together and she groans again.

_I have an early surgery. I can’t sleep like this._

It doesn’t take long; she’s already wet – so wet it surprises her. As she comes she thinks about Fleur, wonders how different Fleur will feel around her fingers, how different Fleur’s fingers will feel inside her.

Realises as she drifts into sleep that she’s thinking of it as a certainty, not just a possibility.

*          *          *

‘You called?’ Serena asks with a smile when she walks onto Keller and spots Fleur.

‘Just the woman I wanted,’ Fleur says, her voice rich with suggestion, watching a faint blush rise on Serena’s cheeks as she comes closer. ‘I’ve got a double leg amputation, wanted a vascular surgeon in the room with me.’

‘And you thought of me?’ Serena teases.

‘Who else? So, can I have you for most of the rest of the day?’

‘For as long as you want,’ Serena murmurs, trailing her fingers along Fleur’s wrist as she reaches for the tablet in her hand. If she hears the hitch in Fleur’s breath she doesn’t respond. But she doesn’t move away either, stays pressed lightly against Fleur’s back so Fleur can feel the softness of her breasts and the rise and fall of her chest, can smell her perfume until her head almost spins. When Serena hands back the tablet and shifts away, she feels almost bereft.

‘You up for it then?’

‘Can’t wait,’ Serena smiles, with a glint in her eyes.

*

‘Ugh,’ Fleur growls when they’re in theatre, each preparing a leg ready for the orthopod.

‘Alright?’ Serena asks, glancing up from her work.

‘The left leg’s a lot worse than the X-ray showed.’

‘Want me to take a look?’

Fleur looks up sharply. She senses Clark Kent stiffen beside her, Doris doing the same opposite him. Serena eyes are oddly magnified by her loupes, most of her face hidden by her mask, but Fleur can’t see or hear any hint of malice. ‘I’m fine,’ she says, softening just a little. Serena doesn’t push, just nods and returns to her own leg.

‘I’d really like to work on the more difficult leg, if that’s–’

‘You just keep your eyes on the job, Doris,’ Fleur says firmly.

It doesn’t take too much longer. They finish just as the orthopod pushes through the doors, step away and leave theatre to take a break so Terry can nail the bones for them.

‘I’d better pop down to AAU, make sure Raf’s managing alright,’ Serena says as they scrub out. ‘You’ll page me when you want me again?’

Aware of the two juniors beside them, Fleur bites back a teasing reply and instead just nods. Serena flashes her a smile, one eyelid flickering in the tiniest of winks, and Fleur is suddenly glad of the sink, furtively leans against it as her knees tremble.

*

They do end up swapping legs later, when it comes to the arteries. The left really is much worse, and Fleur raises her head with a sigh to find Serena looking at her, her head cocked in a silent question.

‘You stay right where you are, Doris,’ Fleur warns as he goes to follow Serena around the table. ‘No need for us all to swap places.’

‘This isn’t musical chairs,’ Serena adds dryly, frowning as she studies the artery. ‘Going to have to be a vein graft, I think.’

‘Have we got long enough? You don’t think we’d be better off cutting our losses?’

‘Doubting my skills, Ms Fanshawe?’ Serena asks, eyebrows raised.

Their eyes meet. Fleur doesn’t even notice Doris and Clark Kent exchange a worried glance before looking at them, gazes flicking from one side of the table to the other, one consultant to the other.

‘I wouldn’t dare,’ Fleur replies.

Serena’s eyes widen, and Fleur knows she heard the sultry note in her voice.

‘On you go, then,’ she adds. ‘Let’s see just what those hands can do.’

Fleur goes back to working on the nerves Serena was part way through reattaching, forces herself to stay focused even though what she really wants to do is watch Serena. There’s no banter now, just the quiet of intricate work broken by the occasional order from one of them to the junior at their side.

‘How’s it looking?’ Fleur asks once she’s finished, leaning across the table.

Serena says nothing; Fleur resists the temptation to prod, instead watches as Serena gestures for Clark Kent to cut the final suture.

‘Done,’ Serena says, raising her head. ‘Quick enough for you?’

‘I’ll tell you when we know if it’s actually worked.’

Serena inclines her head in concession, but Fleur can tell that she’s smiling; she can also tell that, for all her speed, Serena’s work is impeccably neat, that it’s a far better job than she could have done herself.

‘Thanks for helping out,’ Fleur says as they walk back onto Keller side by side, close enough that their arms brush.

‘It was my pleasure,’ Serena replies, a glint in her eyes that makes Fleur’s heart flutter. ‘Drink later? I’m buying – cocktails of your choice, as promised,’ she adds before Fleur has chance to open her mouth.

‘Something with an umbrella and a slice of pineapple?’ Fleur asks hopefully.

‘If you insist,’ Serena says with a teasing roll of her eyes. ‘Come and find me when you clock off?’

‘Will do,’ Fleur smiles, leaning against the nurses’ desk and watching as Serena leaves the ward, eyes fixed on the sway of her hips.

*

They go back to the same place as before, only this time they both pause at the bar so Fleur can decide what she fancies, what she’s going to subject Serena to. She puts her glasses on to read the menu, forces herself to keep looking at it even though she can feel Serena’s eyes on her. When she takes them off and hangs them on the neckline of her dress so they rest over her sternum, between her breasts, Serena’s gaze follows – just for a moment, before she blushes and looks away, but it’s long enough for Fleur to notice. Long enough for her to enjoy it.

It’s just like when they were last in Albie’s. Only tonight there’s no danger of being interrupted by Pudsey, or any of their colleagues. No danger of being seen or overheard, of becoming tomorrow’s hospital gossip. Fleur wonders if that’s what’s making Serena bolder. Something certainly is; already her foot is nudging against Fleur’s under the table, and there’s no mistaking the heat in her eyes. Or the very deliberate way she licks her lips after sipping her drink, her gaze firmly fixed on Fleur’s, almost challenging her to react.

It’s a game Fleur knows well. She asks an innocuous question about AAU, hides a smirk at Serena’s confused frown, waits for her to start answering and then begins to toy with the umbrella in her glass, her eyes still on Serena’s face, daring her to break. Serena’s eyes flick to her fingers but her voice doesn’t waver until Fleur’s stockinged toes touch her ankle, sneaking inside the leg of her trousers and slowly edging higher, as high as the fabric will allow; she watches closely, prepared to withdraw if Serena shows any sign of discomfort, but all she sees is a flush beginning to colour her cheeks, and her eyes darkening, and her hand rising to flutter at the base of her neck.

Only then does Fleur’s gaze shift, unable to stop herself watching Serena’s fingers; they were so dexterous in theatre earlier but Fleur hadn’t allowed her mind to wander from the job in front of them. She has no such demands on her attention now, doesn’t realise that she’s staring until Serena clears her throat and Fleur hurriedly looks up to find her smirking, looks away and hides behind her glass.

And then she feels Serena’s hand on hers, thumb rubbing across the inside of her wrist, across the ridges of her tendons and her fluttering pulse. Her breath hitches and Serena freezes, then tries to draw away. Instantly Fleur turns her hand and curls her fingers around Serena’s, holding her in place; she doesn’t relax her grip until Serena starts to move her thumb again, shivers at the gentle scrape of her nail across sensitive, paper-thin skin.

Fleur watches, almost mesmerised by the motion, raises her gaze to find Serena doing the same. And then Serena looks at her, and Fleur can’t help but notice the way Serena’s eyes flick to her lips, more than once (not that she’s counting), certainly can’t miss the fire in them when their gazes lock. It’s enough to make Fleur gasp softly, to make her pulse race under Serena’s thumb, to make the tendrils of desire start coiling tighter. Her eyes still fixed on Serena’s, Fleur drains her glass, noting how Serena’s gaze tracks the undulation of her throat and lingers as she licks a drop from her bottom lip.

‘I’m going to get a cab,’ Fleur says, her voice low and unmistakeably inviting. She withdraws her hand, fingers trailing along Serena’s right to the tips. ‘I could give you a lift?’

‘It’s not on the way,’ Serena points out, uncharacteristically unsteady.

Fleur tilts her head and raises one eyebrow, smiles when Serena catches on, when she gulps down the last of her drink and pushes back her chair.

It crosses Fleur’s mind, somewhere between the bar and her short-term let, with Serena’s hand on her thigh, that this could be a colossal mistake; she doesn’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to relationships with colleagues, after all. But she wants Serena, and Serena wants her, and if Serena regrets it and it all goes tits up then she’s leaving soon and they’ll at least both be spared the awkward aftermath.

*

‘I’ve never done this before,’ Serena confesses, when she’s pressed between Fleur and the inside of Fleur’s bedroom door, a blend of their two lipsticks smudged across and around both of their mouths.

‘Really?’

‘Really. I know I’m an incorrigible flirt with everyone but…’

Fleur draws back just a little, searches Serena’s face and eyes, gently cups her cheek. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes,’ Serena says firmly. ‘I just wanted you to know.’ The hand tangled in Fleur’s hair tugs back a little and Serena trails kisses along the exposed column of her throat; Fleur moans, and feels Serena’s lips curve in a smile against her skin. And then Serena pulls away, anxiety in her eyes. ‘Is that, I mean do you, does that–?’

Fleur strokes her thumb along Serena’s cheekbone and smiles. ‘You wouldn’t be the first straight woman to dip her toes–’

‘That’s not what this is,’ Serena interrupts her quickly.

‘Then what is it?’ Fleur asks gently.

Serena sighs, rolls her head against the door to gaze at the wall. ‘I’ve spent so much of my life trying to please my mother, suppressing parts of myself that didn’t match her picture of what I should be, of the perfect daughter. Considering how much she criticised me I don’t think I did a very good job. But now she’s gone, I don’t have to do that any more.’

‘To thine own self be true?’

‘Something like that,’ Serena smiles.

‘And this self?’ Fleur nudges.

‘This self likes women,’ Serena says, eyes meeting Fleur’s again so she can see that they’re glistening. ‘Has _always_ liked women. I just never allowed myself to properly acknowledge it.’

‘Oh, Serena,’ Fleur murmurs, gathering her close, feeling tears drop onto her skin.

‘I’m sorry,’ Serena says after a moment, sniffing and looking away.

‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ Fleur reassures her. ‘Now,’ she adds, her voice dropping, ‘where were we?’

*

There’s a moment when Serena thinks she might actually die, right here in Fleur’s bed. She’s already had one, quite frankly rather impressive, orgasm courtesy of Fleur’s fingers. And then, while she was still floating, still trying to catch her breath, Fleur had moved and was between her thighs before Serena realised what was happening. The first touch had been almost too much and now, under Fleur’s solicitous, insistent tongue – well, would blacking out be regarded as a compliment or an insult?

Serena opens her mouth to try and ask, but all that comes out is a low, strangled moan. Fleur’s tongue is finding all the spots her fingers did in what was apparently merely an intelligence gathering preamble to this, the main event: the murder of Serena Campbell by intense, overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure.

‘Fleur,’ Serena manages, her hand flying to twist in Fleur’s no longer perfect hair, not sure whether she’s trying to hold her in place or move her away. She’s barely keeping her grasp on reality now, doesn’t know how much longer she can cope, doesn’t know if she wants this to last forever or to end right now.

It must show in her eyes, because when Fleur glances up at her she raises her head and presses a soft kiss to Serena’s quivering thigh. ‘I’ve got you, Serena,’ she murmurs, her gaze steady. ‘You can let go, it’s alright.’

So Serena does. Relinquishes her last threads of control with a low groan, her world shrinking to Fleur’s tongue, to the warmth pooling deep in her belly, blooming to suffuse her entire body with pleasure.

*

‘You seem remarkably calm for a woman who’s just had her lesbian cherry popped,’ Fleur says when they’re sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs.

‘I think I might be in shock,’ Serena admits, a giggle bubbling from her throat, her fingertips skating across Fleur’s skin. ‘God, to think I’ve been missing out on that my entire life.’

‘Turned you to Sapphic pleasures, have I?’ Fleur teases, shivering as Serena’s thumb smooths across her breast.

Serena raises her head and meets Fleur’s gaze, a wicked glint in her eyes. ‘Very definitely,’ she purrs, not breaking eye contact as she bends to take a nipple between her lips.

‘Fuck, Serena,’ Fleur groans, her back arching. She feels Serena smile against her skin, and then the scrape of teeth. ‘Fuck.’

‘I knew you’d have a dirty mouth,’ Serena murmurs between open-mouthed kisses to her breast and across her sternum. Her tongue circles Fleur’s other nipple and Fleur squirms under her, desperately searching for _more_. ‘Patience,’ Serena soothes, raising her head to meet Fleur’s gaze, ignoring her whine of protest.

‘I’m not known for my patience,’ Fleur says tightly. ‘Serena,’ she warns, as Serena continues to gaze at her, thumb still brushing around and across her nipple. ‘Don’t make me take matters into my own hands.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Serena almost growls. ‘I want to feel you come, Fleur,’ she whispers against Fleur’s lips, shifting so their breasts press together, slowly but surely trailing her hand down Fleur’s side, resting for a moment on her hip. ‘I want to _make_ you come.’

‘Best get on with it, then,’ Fleur manages.

The curl of Serena’s lips is feral, makes Fleur gasp. When Serena’s fingers part her it turns to a moan, one that vibrates through both their bodies. And then Serena’s fingers are twisting-turning-stroking, and Serena’s lips are back on hers again, fierce and messy, tongues touching and teeth knocking in their urgency. Until Fleur has to tear her mouth away, head pressing into the pillows as she fights for breath.

‘Alright?’ Serena murmurs into Fleur’s ear, before nipping at her lobe.

‘Don’t stop,’ Fleur manages, too far gone to care if she sounds desperate.

‘I won’t,’ Serena promises. ‘Is this what you need?’

Fleur nods almost frantically, clutches at Serena’s shoulder with one hand and the sheets with the other as she begins to shudder.

‘I knew you’d be good with your fingers,’ she murmurs later, once she can form words again.

Serena hums a laugh, smiles as Fleur reaches to cover the hand resting loosely on her hip.

‘Not working tomorrow, are you?’ Fleur manages, fighting against the wave of languor dragging her down.

Serena shakes her head, mutters a muffled negative into Fleur’s hair.

‘Thank god,’ Fleur murmurs, letting her eyes slip closed. ‘Don’t fancy trying to move to set an alarm right now.’

*

Serena wakes alone, in an unfamiliar bed, a little sore, a little sticky, and a lot in need of a shower. She blinks and stretches and yawns, hears quiet footsteps and rolls over just as Fleur pads through the door, a silk robe loosely tied around her body.

‘Morning, sleepyhead,’ she says, a smug smile pulling at her mouth.

‘Morning yourself,’ Serena replies, as Fleur sits on the edge of the bed. She hesitates a moment, then reaches to rest her hand on the curve of Fleur’s hip. Fleur leans down to kiss her softly, and Serena hums in approval.

‘You alright?’

‘Very,’ Serena smiles. She gazes up at Fleur, fascinated by how different she is here, how much softer she is away from the hospital, with her hair messy and her makeup smudged and her clothes strewn across her bedroom floor. She realises that _she_ feels softer too; softer, and cared for, and desired. It’s a feeling she could get used to, could–

‘What is it?’ Fleur asks, brow creasing as Serena frowns, as her eyes cloud a little and slip away to the wall beyond her shoulder.

‘What was last night? For you, I mean?’

‘Aside from very satisfying and enjoyable?’

Serena’s gaze meets hers – just for an instant, but it’s long enough for Fleur to see the mingled desire and anxiety. ‘What is this, Fleur?’

Fleur rests her hand over Serena’s, rubs gentle circles with her thumb. ‘What do you want it to be?’

‘Not what I asked,’ Serena says tightly.

‘It doesn’t have to _be_ anything, Serena. You can leave, and we can pretend it didn’t happen and just go back to how things were before.’

‘A one night stand?’

Fleur shrugs one shoulder and tilts her head.

‘Is– is that what you want?’

‘I’m just saying that it’s an option. Or,’ she continues, twisting a little so she can reach to run her fingers through Serena’s hair.

‘Or?’ Serena echoes, arching her neck at Fleur’s touch.

‘Or we can keep doing this,’ she says simply, her gaze fixed on Serena’s face.

‘You’re leaving soon,’ Serena points out.

‘Thanks to the lecture tour you gave me,’ Fleur says wryly. She gently scratches at Serena’s scalp, watching her eyes flutter closed. ‘It’s not forever though, as you well know.’

‘And then you’re going to Denmark.’

‘Ah, yes, there is that.’

Even with Serena’s eyes closed, Fleur can still see the warring emotions playing across her face, can see the moment she comes to a decision – can see it in her eyes, when she opens them again and looks directly into Fleur’s.

‘I suppose we’ll just have to make the most of it then, won’t we?’ Serena slips her hand from under Fleur’s and toys with the tie of her robe; the silk needs very little encouragement to slip from its loose knot, and then Serena’s warm hands are splayed across Fleur’s skin. ‘Did you have any plans for today?’

‘No,’ Fleur replies, her voice almost steady. ‘Unless you include reading the paper and eating dinner in front of the TV.’

‘Good,’ Serena says, so low it’s almost a growl.

*          *          *

They make the most of it – _oh_ , do they make the most of it, in those glorious few weeks before Christmas. Every spare moment they can snatch between their various responsibilities (AAU, Keller, the board, family; arrangements for the lecture tour, for Christmas, for Denmark) sees them at Fleur’s, or at Serena’s. In bed, against walls and doors, on the sofa, even one memorable occasion in Fleur’s kitchen. Serena cannot get enough, and Fleur seems just as eager and enthusiastic.

She refuses to allow herself to think about how short term this is, to think about anything other than how much she’s enjoying herself and how much better she feels in her own skin now that she knows how it feels to have another woman pressed against it. Until she arrives at Fleur’s one evening to find her in the middle of packing.

‘Oh,’ she breathes, sinking onto the sofa.

‘Tough day?’ Fleur asks, bustling into the kitchen to fetch her collection of takeaway menus.

‘Hm?’ Serena looks at her as she comes back, blinks and clears her throat. ‘No worse than usual,’ she answers, tugging at her pendant.

‘Then what’s that look for?’

‘You’re leaving soon,’ Serena says simply. There’s no point lying: Fleur will see right through her, and won’t stop badgering until she tells her.

‘Yes, we have had this conversation already,’ Fleur says a little testily. ‘Or did I imagine that?’

‘I know. Seeing the physical evidence of it before my eyes just brought home how soon, that’s all.’

‘Not regretting this, are you?’ Fleur asks.

She hasn’t sat down beside Serena yet, and Serena can see how she’s closing in a little, steeling herself for rejection. ‘Not in the slightest,’ Serena smiles, reaching to catch at Fleur’s fingers. ‘I just wish we had longer, that’s all.’

‘Me too,’ Fleur smiles in return. ‘You could always come with me,’ she suggests, an edge of seriousness beneath the mirth in her voice.

‘As your glamorous assistant?’ Serena scoffs.

‘You are very gorgeous,’ Fleur admits with a wink. ‘But I was actually thinking more that we could split the lectures between us.’

Serena thinks about it. It’s tempting, she has to admit: back to America, away from the madhouse of Holby, away from Guy bloody Self and all his posturing and arrogance. _With_ Fleur. But it’s hardly going to solve anything, is it? She’s not about to follow Fleur to Denmark, so all this would do is buy them a couple of extra weeks. And no doubt they’d end up falling out over sharing the tour, which would rather sour what has, until now, been one of the most wonderful experiences of Serena’s life.

‘I don’t think so,’ she says ruefully, apologetically.

‘It’s okay,’ Fleur says before she can explain. ‘I wasn’t really expecting you to run away with me – not your style, is it?’

‘No,’ Serena agrees, wishing for a moment that it was.

‘Besides, who knows what Guy would get up to without you there to rein him in.’

‘Doesn’t bear thinking about,’ Serena says, rolling her eyes. And then her voice suddenly drops, her gaze turning predatory. ‘But enough of him.’

Serena tugs at Fleur’s fingers. Forgotten, the menus slip from her grasp and spread across the carpet at their feet as she sinks onto Serena’s lap, their lips meeting in a messy, hungry kiss.

*          *          *

They snatch one more night together, before Fleur leaves for LA. Serena doesn’t go to the party at Albie’s; she doesn’t trust herself to keep from touching Fleur and isn’t quite sure she’s ready for this to spread along the grapevine yet, especially when she’d have to face it alone. Besides, Raf is in sore need of a quiet drink and a friendly ear – or possibly a shoulder – and Serena owes him for Paris, for everything he’s done for her.

After, though. After she hugs Raf and packs him into a taxi home. After Fleur has said her goodbyes to Pudsey and Doris and Clark Kent, to the group from AAU and the other staff she’s got to know in her time at Holby.

Serena walks the few streets back to the hospital and sits in her car; she only had one glass, wanted to keep a clear head, vowed to Raf that she would and kept her promise. She’s about to turn the key when her phone rings, digs in her handbag and answers just before it goes to voicemail.

‘I missed you tonight,’ Fleur says without preamble.

‘Raf needed a friend,’ Serena apologises.

‘Ah yes, the baby situation. How is he?’

‘He’ll be fine,’ Serena replies.

‘He’s lucky to have you,’ Fleur says, and Serena almost laughs because she feels like she’s the one lucky to have Raf. ‘Speaking of having you,’ Fleur continues, her voice suddenly low.

‘Yes?’ Serena says slowly, teasingly.

‘I hope you weren’t planning on letting me leave the country without saying a proper goodbye.’

‘I hope you weren’t planning on leaving without saying one,’ Serena ripostes.

‘Not in the slightest,’ Fleur almost growls, and Serena shivers.

‘Are you still at Albie’s?’ she asks – redundantly, because she can hear the party going on in the background.

‘Outside, freezing my tits off.’

‘Can’t have that,’ Serena says, starting the car, fiddling with the dials to blow air on the fogged up windscreen.

‘Don’t suppose you know anyone who’d be interested in warming them up?’

‘I think I know just the woman,’ Serena smiles.

Fleur is all warm and giggly when she slips into the passenger seat. Her hand goes straight to Serena’s thigh, fingers teasing high until Serena glares at her and Fleur moves them lower.

‘How many have you had?’ Serena asks suspiciously as she pulls away from the kerb.

‘Enough, but not too many,’ Fleur replies happily. ‘Wanted to give you a good night to remember me by. And be sober enough to remember it myself.’

Serena shivers, and not from the cold, feels Fleur’s hand creep a little higher. ‘Behave,’ she warns, her voice wavering. ‘Else we won’t even make it to yours, won’t have anything to remember but an embarrassing trip to A and E.’

*

It is, indeed, a night to remember, a night seared in Serena’s memory to be returned to time and again when she’s alone and her bed feels far too cold and large and empty. They just make it through the front door, and then Fleur is pushing Serena against the cold, hard wood, their breasts pressing together, lips hungry and messy. Serena pushes her backwards, vaguely in the direction of the bedroom; they only part when Fleur stumbles – nothing to do with her heels or alcohol consumption, but the fault of the suitcase standing by the wall. Somehow Serena manages to keep them both upright but it makes her put some distance between them, a warning look in her eyes when Fleur rubs against her.

‘Alright,’ Fleur sighs, rolling her eyes. ‘No embarrassing trip to A and E.’

They shed coats and handbags and shoes in a heap inside the bedroom door. Serena pushes Fleur’s cardigan from her shoulders to join them, carefully unzips Fleur’s dress and peels it over her head. Before Fleur can reciprocate she falls to pressing her lips to every inch of revealed skin, what little lipstick remains painting smudges across collarbones and décolletage.

 _I’m going to miss this,_ she thinks sharply, as Fleur tugs at her and then at her blouse, as Fleur’s hands slip under the fabric to rest against her skin.

For a moment she rues Fleur’s leaving, wishes she had given the tour to Spence instead; for another, she wishes she had taken Fleur’s offer and decided to go with her to LA, perhaps even to Copenhagen, leaving Holby far behind.

 _Would it be worth it, for this?_ she wonders, as Fleur pushes her to the bed and kneels before her, as she hooks one leg over Fleur’s shoulder, as Fleur’s mouth gets to work. _It might be_ , she thinks, under Fleur’s wicked tongue.

But no. It isn’t like she hasn’t considered it, like she hasn’t made lists in favour and against in moments when she was actually capable of rational thought. They both know this is how it has to be. And – well, things could certainly be worse.

‘You’d better look me up if you’re ever back in Holby,’ Serena murmurs, tugging with the hand twined in Fleur’s hair until they’re tangled together on the bed.

‘Count on it,’ Fleur replies, her breath hot against Serena’s neck.

Serena twists her head to kiss her, groans at the taste of herself on Fleur’s lips. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ she says, hand trailing down Fleur’s side, resting for a breath on her hip, fingers tapping a rhythm against her skin.

‘Going to miss you too,’ Fleur moans, as Serena’s hand find its target.

‘But I don’t regret a moment,’ Serena whispers in her ear before nipping at the lobe and twisting her fingers, smiling as Fleur whimpers and arches in response, her short nails biting into Serena’s shoulder. ‘Not a single moment.’

*          *          *          *          *

When Serena meets Bernie Wolfe, when first their eyes and then their hands meet, she thinks of Fleur and wonders, _what is it about locums on Keller?_


End file.
